


Every World Leads to You

by Cacilie_Blaas, Meraki_Viajera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacilie_Blaas/pseuds/Cacilie_Blaas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraki_Viajera/pseuds/Meraki_Viajera
Summary: Echoes of Souls, Murmures, Soulmates dreams— the name didn't matter. With each parsecs separating them, the grip they had on them would only grow. Memories of past lives would claw at their chest in the vulnerability of the night until it was too much— too wonderful.For their paths had crossed long before they first met._____________________________Or, the one where Din and Cobb fall for each other again, and again and again.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37
Collections: DinCobb Valentine's Bingo 2021





	1. Durango, Colorado. 1865.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).



> Our lovely moderators on the DinCobb discord were amazing enough to put together a Valentine's Day Bingo. My dear co-author and I hatched an "across the multiverse" AU using at least five of the prompts each. 
> 
> Cacilie will be writing Din for you, while I get the pleasure of writing our favorite Marshal. 
> 
> We adore this ship and are excited to write more for you.
> 
> \--Meraki.

A warm breeze tickled the back of his neck as he checked his surroundings. All around him, rugged rocks cut across the skyline. _No, not rocks. Moun-tains? Mountains._ The mountains, spotted with vibrant colors across each and everyone, were similar enough to the hues back home. Folks said Tatooine was beautiful if dust and sand fit your fancy. He always counted himself lucky he at least loved the roasting heat of the twin suns. But this place? Nothing compared to the serene beauty. Fresh snow covered the tips of the mountains. It wouldn’t be long until it reached down the base. For now. the wind picked up just enough to increase its friendly hello.  
  
_The seasons are changing. You always loved that._  
  
Whatever the kriff that meant.  
  
Uncharacteristically blessed with a pleasant dream, the tension dropped from Cobb’s shoulders. He’d make a note to post around town whenever he woke up. _‘Don’t drink the Tuskens’ water, unless you have to keep the peace’_ in bold, black letters. _‘May cause hallucinations’_ tacked on at the bottom. For now, he walked through the field. The vegetation of this planet was something else. If he wrapped his hands around it and tugged hard enough, maybe he’d wake up with some keepsakes. Not that he knew what to do with it. Whatever this was, it didn’t seem the kind for eating.  
  
Something thin and _green_ rubbed against the legs of his trousers, just tall enough to reach over his boots. It pricked through the thin material, somehow static and sharp.  
  
Everything crashed down on him all at once. His knees buckled, hands reaching out to level his fall.  
  
He knew this place. Recognized the mix of floral and pine in the air. Blood pumped faster in his veins, his head pounding from distant voices. Faces of people he used to care for slowly twisted into focus. Secrets that weren’t exactly his to know returned all the same. Clear as day was _his_ town on the other side of the grazing meadows. Finally, the familiar face of that damned vagabond, the one with a snug lasso around his heart, came into view.  
  
Cobb grinned.  
  
Every crisp scent, every forgotten word, all things good and bad gently assaulted him. His pulse didn’t accelerate. No pools of sweat formed in his palms nor did they bead together along his hairline. Things forgotten were simply being returned. Sure as he could name every scar on his back, if he let his legs carry him they’d recall the layout of this land.  
  
Another lifetime’s worth of memories trying to cram themselves back into his head in a few minuscule seconds.  
  
When his vision cleared, two figures saddled on horses passed him on his right. The first led by just a few inches, sitting tall on an Orlov trotter. The reds and oranges of his clothes blended with the autumn foliage. His hairs were not yet fully grey, but little specks poked through under the stetson. _Laugh lines_ accompanied the smile on his face, crow’s feet taking form around his eyes. So young, but still tasked with so much in Durango.  
  
_Durango_.  
  
The place he was certain cemented his role as a lawman if the flow of memories served him correctly. A quieter gem in the bustle of Colorado, no longer burdened with supplying men for the war. Colorado, with its snowy winters and fervent summers, blossoming springs, and bold autumns. His heart swelled, tears almost dropping from the corners of his eyes.  
  
He’d loved it here. Of that he was certain.  
  
Next to the younger Cobb rode another man, rider and Dale both covered in black. October was better for such dark clothes, but the idiot always insisted on them. Every time the patches got too much for Omera’s sewing skills, he simply purchased a new set cut of the same cloth.  
  
His friend. The outlaw. _The Mandalorian_. His spine tingled as memory after memory confirmed the outlaw's identity. It was in the way his blood sang with the thrill of a chase. Mando's intimidating posture was another confirmation. Tick after tick of his pining heart was by far the most convincing. Even lacking thick layers of beskar and the absence of his helmet, a sneaking suspicion wormed its way into fact. He'd simply know Mando anywhere.   
  
Mando hitched his horse to one of the nearby posts and Cobb followed suit. The sun dipped between the mountains; with it, the blue sky began to mix with streaks of color. The scene crafted a beautiful oasis; one where time stopped around them. Glee hummed in the air like the world heard a joke he missed. Every responsibility, every unspoken truth, every little detail slotted into place like the setting sun. The pieces slotted together and life was easier.  
  
Comparatively, at least. Unexplainable illnesses and the dangers of winter kept life interesting. Boxes ticked in Mos Pelgo’s favor. But just as it did for other Cobb, the world narrowed to just the Mandalorian.  
  
His consciousness became rigid, almost entirely washed away by a life no longer his. The flash of that beautiful green-tinted his vision. Long nails scratched inside his stomach, the beady monster demanding to be fed. Was it so bad to let himself get wrapped up in the moment with _Din_ if this was once his life?  
  
_No._  
  
He certainly appreciated it. Who else had had the joy of _reliving_ their love story play for the first time like some kind of personal holofilm?  
  
The faint taste of copper made him flick his tongue across his lip. A small drop of blood met the tip. He spat away the crimson, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Perhaps considering it a love story was too much. He didn’t know how this tale played out.  
  
And yet—  
  
These memories were far less an invasion and more a wonderful gift he may never get again.  
  
Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Mos Pelgo could be laid to rest for one dream.  
  
Cobb Vanth, Durango Sheriff, had a far better ring.  
  
The outlaw he had quickly come to adore, despite all his better judgments, was still a wanted man. A _handsome, brilliant_ outlaw. A tender fugitive. One who was currently running his hand along his horse’s forehead down to its muzzle. A thief, who gave rewards for a day of hard riding. Lesser men wouldn’t give their horses such affection. Another evidence of Din’s true nature, one Cobb simply didn’t need.  
  
For under it all, Din was still an outlaw with a bounty on his head.  
  
Loud laughter between snarky remarks, violently wonderful flashes of images, every last moment up to this point overwhelmed him. He took a seat in the grass, arms stretched behind him and legs crossed. They were returning to the corral after spending the day rounding up the cows the _Nite Owls_ had tried to steal. When Peli’d brought the news, Cobb had sprinted from the main street to his horse at the end of the road. Only when he had slowed down enough to throw his leg over his horse had he seen Din at his side. Without a word, he’d nodded and followed along.  
  
And _what a team they’d made._   
  
Two others could have trained for years and not been as in sync as they had been today. Each stride one made was complemented by the other. Every moment was effortless. True, they’d lost a few cattle to Bo and her posse. But somehow that didn’t seem to matter as much as the electricity thrumming down to his very soul.  
  
His memory trailed off there.  
  
A sour part of himself doubted he’d get enough sleep to see all of it.  
  
He expected to be ripped from it then and there. Cobb almost swore he heard a distant knock, trying to rouse him. But here he was, with insignificant distance between him and Din. The knock pounded harder, ready to crack his chest. His heart was an old fool and he, a desperate romantic.  
  
All the same, he _knew._  
  
With his gaze still hung up on Din, he couldn’t help the stupid smile making his cheeks hurt. When he told his own Mandalorian farewell, he hadn’t counted on getting this. He knew better than to shoot a gift bantha in the paw though. No, he’d sit and revel in this moment. Because at least this Cobb stood a chance at keeping his Din.  
  
Din turned his head just in time, catching his lingering gaze. He tried to ignore the heat burning his cheeks and the ferocious flips of his stomach. It was the last of the adrenaline from the ride. The obvious reaction.  
  
_A bluff._

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He tipped his hat with a nod of his head, sliding his saddle off his horse. He threw it over the wooden fence post, dragging his feet. Consciously ignored Din’s insufferable arrogance worming under his skin. Dismissed the silent whispers taunting, _what kind of gambler are you? You folded too soon._

Din chuckled, returning the gesture. “I’m aware, alguacil. Think I shaved a few years off my punishment now?” 

That stupidly charming smirk plastered itself over his face again, as though it could be so easy. As if a wave of his hand, the right papers signed, anything Cobb could do might replace years of misdeeds tracing back to Din. The entire western slope was his prized jewel, cracked open and exploited as he saw fit through the last decade. Even without whatever Din had done in the war to wind up here, his crimes were endless. Private letters and newspapers traveled with news of his name, warning of his trail. _The Mandalorian_ , written on every wanted sign. It was easy getting caught when you stayed still.  
  
And yet, here Din had been for the better part of the last two years.  
  
Cobb unscrewed his canteen and water splashed on his mustache. It wasn’t because of him. Din stayed for the Grogu. The outlaw and Peli’s orphaned stable boy were joined at the hip from the moment Din arrived in town. He critically needed a father, and something in the outlaw’s past made him the perfect candidate. Cobb had tried to ignore the implications that perhaps something was missing from Din’s own life before Durango. About what he had found to have stayed so long. 

“Could turn my back while you make for the New Mexico territory. Or I heard Holcomb Valley made men a fortune.”

Din dropped his hand from the mare taking a step forward. “And that’s what you’d have me do? Move on to the next location?” His lip curled, mischief painting his eyes. Bolder swirls of reds and purples painted the Colorado sky, shifting his tone with it. Gone was the self-assured confidence. Removed was the proud mask, normally all anyone saw of the notorious outlaw. Before him was nothing more than a man, colored with the sweat of his brow and lines of dust his handkerchief had not adequately covered. His clothes were stained with the same soot, and still, he looked powerful. Beautiful. Enough to make the flutter in Cobb’s stomach cause his heart to skip a beat. 

“That’s what you do, is it not?” He wagged his eyebrows, hoping his smile communicated just enough hints of challenge. His hands found his hips, the new assurance like a forgotten ace up his sleeve. If anything were to come, he needed to be ready. 

Din stood before him, eyes wandering in a way that made Cobb simply forget how to breathe. He’d never been allowed to bask in the attention of anyone—of a _man,_ of _this_ man before. It had been building for months, probably years if he was honest. It cumulated the night the snow left them reliant on the other’s warmth for two weeks. A hand skirted down the side of his face, the sly smile nothing shy of sincere now. Din wrapped his fingers behind his jaw, dragging him closer.  
Lips stroked his, ever featherlight. Din’s mouth meekly mumbled, asking for permission. A wordless promise it would all stop if stopping was what he wanted. A hopeful wish Cobb would give a pleaful _yes_ and allow Din to sweep him away. 

Instead, he leaned into it, hands wrapped around the thin material of Din’s overshirt. The fingers clutching his jaw weaved their way through his hair, knocking his hat off the top of his head. His lips parted to release a low moan, fiery colors warmer than the evening sky flaring behind closed eyes. Serenity pooled behind his sternum, blazing down all the way to his stomach.  
  
All-encompassing. Just as Din had been from the moment of their first showdown. Powerful, like the man himself. Possessive, in all the ways that made Cobb’s toes curl. Strong, determined, and simply phenomenal. 

Din’s tongue tickled his bottom lip, seeking permission as he had before. Cobb’s wide smile obliged, perhaps too quickly. Perhaps _not_ fast enough. The deep kiss melted into something slower. Soother, _Sweeter_. Finally, the breathlessness became too much and _finally_ , Cobb let them break apart. Din’s hands gently cupped his face, their foreheads pressed together. 

“What was that for?” 

“Out here, a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.” Din’s whisper seared his skin. Nuzzling noses disbursed the flames. In a matter of moments, Cobb would be engulfed forever.  
  
_Thank the kriffin’ Maker._

He blinked, every word still vacant from his mind. His foot nudged against the lower part of Din’s calf, propelling him forward once more. His arms ensnared Din’s waist, crushing him against his chest. Strong hands once holding his face between them worked their way down to the knot of his scarf. Inch by inch, the scratchy material untwisted from around his neck. Centimeter by centimeter, Din’s hands crawled into a new position. Rough fingers rubbed against the exposed skin of Cobb’s neck. Bumps rushed up his arms with jagged beats of his heart.  
  
In an instant, Din’s lips were back on his. Tender and devoted in their second kiss, all of Cobb's own instincts were yet again shared. Each attentive touch sparked a new bolt of electricity, raw and magnetic. He could spend the rest of his life with this man in his arms, and he’d commit himself to investing in new ways to draw dry groans and happy sighs. 

Eyelashes fluttered against the middle of his nose. Cobb looped his fingers around Din’s wrists, keeping him close. Even in his wildest dreams, of which there’d been a few, they never got here. Now he’d never be able to go back. An exasperated breath caressed his cheek, followed by Din’s humbled admission. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”  
  
“Could’ve fooled me, partner.”  
_____  
  
There were three things Cobb knew when he opened his eyes.  
  
First, no amount of Tusken water could be held responsible for his dream. He grasped the frayed sheet abandoned at his side. Each twist broke another thread. Still, it was better to watch the frail thing fall apart than do so himself. The simple way out, the wanted explanation, was always just out of his reach. Yes, stomping across the dunes demanding answers they couldn’t give was an option, Without Din— _Mando—_ he’d just be a madman waving his arms incoherently. They’d end up in each other’s faces, rage seething and teeth grinding. In a flash, he’d end up breaking the peace. Manipulating blame meant he’d die an old fool.  
  
Sitting upright, he clawed at the back of his neck. Searching. _Hoping_ for a blessed answer. Rough bumps and grooves with known origins were the fruits of his explorations. No new lesions needed accounting for. With his head curved against the wall, familiar cramps pooled in his lower back. _You’re too old to be sitting like this_.  
  
Stubborn habits were hard to kill. A forced exhale sagged his shoulders, his spine pinched. Gripping his knees tightly, Cobb coiled into a tight ball. Rolled over on his side, he was a sore sight. Even the children of Mos Pelgo wouldn’t be caught so vulnerable.  
  
Life on Tatooine didn’t permit such comforts.  
  
Which was why the third truth crumbled every wall of his defenses.  
  
There were old stories passed down through generations. He’d always scoffed and made his way back to his broken bunk. On restless nights, his fingers released the thin pillow covering his ears. Starry-eyed and stupidly hopeful, he hung onto every tale. Legends spoke of past lives, set in other worlds in unknown galaxies. Only finding your âme soeur formed the key to unlocking such a precious treasure. Nobody ever had, of course. Some folk spoke of others they’d heard of, but it was all talk to chip away pieces of harsh realities.  
  
_I hope our paths cross again._  
  
_As do I._  
  
Of all people, why’d it have to be him— _them_? Nobody came back to Mos Pelgo, least of all strong-willed men on a mission. Even if the Mandalorian were tortured by dreams of his own, he probably had the necessary training to deal with it. Languages and complex negotiation were in his skillset. Forgoing aggressive dreams probably only needed a swift flick in the head.  
  
Which was where a blaster would be pointed at Cobb if he ever admitted to seeing Mando’s face. Even in a dream, he didn’t ask for, he couldn’t imagine the rules changed. He hadn’t asked about the consequences if it was removed. They hadn’t the time and Cobb was already insulting the man enough by masquerading around in the old beskar set. What gave him away was removing his helmet, the first tick of many against him. The last thing that needed to get out was what he’d seen in his sleep.  
Tomorrow, he’d ask around. Somebody in this town had to know something. Anything. If not, a supply run to Mos Eisley would mask his true intentions. Not that anyone there was likely to be more helpful. Suffering in silence was unappealing and useless, though. If there were a way to put it to an end, he’d find it. Time spent hung up on silly delusions stole energy from things desperate for it.  
  
Sleep never came again. Instead, echoes etched in the pines sang old _campfire songs_ to him. Ghosts of denim and tartan tormented his skin. When he dared take another breath, soot and ash, with just a _hint_ of blue spruce, attacked again.  
  
Wonderful and wicked was the unique musk of Mando in another life.  
  
Maybe, if the sun shined down on him twice in a week, some part of it carried over to the reincarnations they were now. 


	2. Orellia, Orion System, 1996 BYB

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Nice to meet you, DinCobb fandom— at least, those of you I don't know yet through Discord or Twitter! It's been a real joy to write again for Star Wars and I decided to renew the experience with my amazing co-author this time.
> 
> I'm Din for you today and hope you'll like the different — sometimes very different — version of him you'll meet through the different past lives!
> 
> This chapter cross four of my bingo entry: Royal AU, Arranged Marriage, Touch-Starved Din and ofc Soulmate AU :D
> 
> Have fun reading and see you very soon!
> 
> —— Cacilie

Dyn hadn’t been surprised to receive the summon for an appointment, but still— she had been wary. She knew where she did and did not belong. She knew the wealth displayed ostentatiously around, as well as the judgmental eyes of the servants. It told her everything she needed to know. 

Her plain and shabby looks made her stick out even more than usual in such a rich environnement. 

It had been a while since she had set foot in a room so lavishly decorated. From portraits hanging on the gilded walls to several plush chairs artfully arranged around a sculpted wooden table, painted with golden leaves and ornate with precious stones, everything was forcefully inviting. 

Rather than sitting, Dyn made her way over to the large window that overlooked the gardens. 

She had the reputation of being a recluse for a reason. Her customers were used to coming to her and not her to them. Nevertheless, the pay had been too good to pass this clandestine meeting, shrouded in secrecy. The child she rescued a few weeks ago was still recovering and money had to be spent on clothes and medicine until then. If she had to agree to a secret meeting to care for the creature, Dyn would. 

It should only take seconds to take the measurement anyway. 

Or so she thought.

The door to the room opened abruptly and Dyn froze. Princess Cobeya of Enotta, Queen-To-Be if the rumors of her engagement were true, entered the room. The carmine lace clinging to her shoulder dropped all pretence of modesty, flirting with the line of a daring cleavage that brought similar colours to Dyn’s cheeks. The dress transformed into a long red satin skirt grazing delicate ankles. Dyn remembered kissing them religiously, once upon a time. 

Frozen by the window, she had eyes for Coby and Coby alone. Distantly, Dyn remarked her wandering daydreams hadn’t been too far off— Coby’s hair really had that silver streak she always thought of whenever she worked pearls into her jewelries. It hadn’t been an exaggeration of her love-sick memories.

Dyn didn’t take her eyes off Coby, even as a maid scurried in, carrying a tray of strange green pastries and some kanala drinks. She was better off searing Coby’s image to her brain so she could remember it accurately for months to come. 

Only when Coby herself recovered from her own shock, clearing her throat and deftly rearranging the folds of her garment to cover up her initial surprise, did Dyn remember _who_ exactly she was gaping at. 

“Dyn,” she said faintly, like she didn’t know whether to be delighted or distressed, “is it— is it really you?”

“I—” The dark look Dyn received from the maid observing her from behind Coby’s shoulders cut short any sincere words she might have blurted in her stupefaction. Instead, a long forgotten curtsy took possession of her limbs. Carefully articulated words left her lips, “Good morning, Princess Cobeya.” 

She wanted to leave. 

She wanted to go back to her little shop— the one that finally felt like home after years of running away from the Capitole. Running from her past and the one that haunted it. Her gorgeous ghost was gaping at her, but the cool indifferent mask Dyn artfully arranged over her emotion finally clued Coby in.

“Right, of course.” Gracefully, Coby turned to her maid. “This will be all, thank you.”

“I’ll be outside should you need anything, your Highness,” the petite woman said, eyeing Dyn with suspiciousness. It would have been insulting if Dyn didn’t know the truth of their shared history. 

“You look well. I’m happy to see it,” Coby said after a moment, softly enough Dyn was almost tempted to ignore her. Ever the brave heart, Coby added, “I missed you.” 

The tentative joy that had blossomed at seeing Coby’s cherished face again dropped and plummeted to the depths of her heart. It wasn’t a feeling Dyn’d missed. She had been used to hide the truth in her heart, and it had left her more bereft with each aftermath.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

Coby’s polite façade morphed then. Her eyes rolled to the sky, her arms crossed defensively in front of her breast and she puffed out an exaggerated breath of air, blowing the too-long bangs that stuck to her eyelashes off of her face. It looked so familiar. Dyn’s had to close her eyes against the wave of nostalgia unwinding her heart. 

“Arranged betrothal,” Coby said flatly, gaze flickering to the bag still in Dyn’s hands. “Not my choice— not even went it came down to _who_ was chosen to make my engagement and wedding rings.”

“I heard about it.”

“That’s fuckin’ rich. You’re allowed to keep tabs on me but you refused me the same courtesy Dy’. _For years_.”

She had been everywhere, despite how far Dyn had run. Every media talked about the jewel of the crown, Princess Cobeya. Even stranded away from everything, Dyn had heard her childhood friend’s name way too often. Heard about her mother passing away. Heard about her work with the Orphans of Orion. Heard about the engagement that stopped her from finally travelling off planet on a diplomacy mission in the Usar System. 

Coby’s destiny was apparently to never see Orion’s surface from space. 

“Was I that much of a brat that you had to cut all ties like that?” Coby asked, hands fisted into the delicate material of her dress.

They had run the corridors of Orellia’s Capitole together, played in trees and lakes alike, uncaring of social status in the carelessness of their childhood. As they grew and changed and blossomed into young women, they had dreamt of the world outside the high walls of the Capitole, where Dyn’s motherlessness didn’t mark her as an outcast and Coby’s lineage wasn’t iron shackles holding her firmly in place. 

Coby had been _perfect_. She had been a perpetual whiplash, full of laughter and life. Dyn’s North star, her compass—

“Was I _nothing_ to you?”

Her everything. 

They used to laugh— used to tangle together in closets and corners and draperies. It had been so new and so bright and so thrilling that they’d laugh between the panting, between bitten lips and whines and whimpers. They would snicker, delighted by pleasure— would hold their hands over each other’s mouths, begging for silence as laughter rippled through them tenfold, uncaring of wandering ears. 

Coby’s small, mirthless chuckle cut through Dyn like meteore stars slashing the night sky. “Just take whatever measurement you need.” 

It didn’t matter what Dyn needed.

It didn’t fucking matter what she wanted.

It never had. 

She retrieved from her bag a measuring tape to escape the distasteful curl of Coby’s lips, but couldn’t avoid them anymore than she could avoid touching her. 

Skin met skin when Dyn wrapped the ribbon around Coby’s finger, and reluctantly, their eyes met and dredged up wisps of recollections like so many half-formed dreams. Coby’s hands on her, Coby’s skin against her, Coby’s breath on her lips, her throat, her thighs—

For Dyn, it was an awakening, a summon— she leaned in and all was lost. 

Coby kissed the same way she ever did— with her whole body, with a fervency that verged on violence. She hurled herself into things heart first, and if Dyn was to believe the skittering beat of her own pulse, she loved it as much as she had all these years ago. 

For several long, lingering, seconds it felt as if no time had passed. Dyn’s hands buried in Coby’s long hair, meeting the biting kisses with a fervor of her own; the silky wealth of Coby’s hair around her knuckles; the hands roaming over her face— 

_________

When he woke up, dizzy and hungry and half hallucinating the lips against his, Din’s first whiplash instinct urged him to snarl. 

He fought against the thin cover restraining his movements, desperate to reach for his helmet. Desperate to hide his face from tender caresses he secretly yearned for, yet couldn’t allow. His body hit the floor like an unforgivable stone. He fumbled in the dark until finally, fingers touched the cold reassuring beskar. He wrenched it closer until it enclosed his head safely.

With drenched hair clinging to his forehead and air struggling to make it to his lungs, Din _finally_ realized no one was around. His face had remained secret, as private as the carved longing in his heart for more than what this life could offer. 

He sucked in a deep breath, choked on the dryness that followed and let out a shuddering and slow exhale. From his bed, it was impossible to gauge if the Child was still asleep. Din crossed the distance separating him from the door and slowly crept outside to listen for any clue he might have woken up his little charge. Thankfully, the panel closing the compartment to the kid’s makeshift bed was still firmly shut. 

The Razor Crest was an old spaceship and its intimate inner melody a comfort to Din’s ears. He brought his hands against the smooth metal covering its inside, like one would caress a familiar pet—with a selfish affection that asked for comfort. 

Still, now that he knew that his charge hadn’t been bothered by the noise he made when jarred from his slumber, Din found himself bereft. 

He wouldn’t fall asleep again. Neither could he leave now— or could he?

Din wasn’t naive. The universe was not kind. It had to be an accident. Wishful thinking on his part. Everything in this galaxy was indifferent and cold and nothing— _nothing_ —was ever fair. How could this surreal dream be what Din assumed to be a _Murmure_? 

Yet, _how could it not?_

He first heard about _Murmures_ the day one of the oldest foundlings came back from their first mission off planet, only to start having vivid dreams. Sa’shao had been scared at first, refusing for weeks to talk about what had been happening to them. Back then, Din hadn’t been able to sleep soundly through the night and their growing agitation had found a sympathetic friend in Din’s curiosity. 

They would knock on Din’s door on the loneliest of nights to talk about the woman they dreamt about. Din had listened raptly to the strange worlds Sa’shao painted with their words, their helmets bumping together gently. They refused to talk about it to anyone, though. In their culture, it was a bad omen to meet your other half, no matter what Mandalorian myths had to say.

As far as Din knew, Sa’shao never tried to contact their other self.

Even when it became clear that Mandalorian lover pairs were considered a blessing, Sa’shao stubbornly clung to their childhood beliefs that the bond was cursed. 

It went against everything Din was later taught. The Sacred Bonded were considered perfect soldiers, pairs of lovers forming the elite forces of Mandalore. They were everything one could hope for. Devoted to each other by mutual obligations and love, they served the Creed as one soul. Elders taught about these devoted fighters with the respect owed to such rare occurrence— their exploits in battles, their matching armors, their connected hearts.

The story of the sacred vows between Lover and Beloved was one Din jealously kept close to his heart. For as much as he believed in his people, for as much as he owed them, being Mandalorian was a magnificent combination of solitude and pain.

He never could figure out whether or not he resented being so utterly alone. At times, it had been a relief. Like a deep breath of clean air after ages in the slums, feeling restricted by the constant presence of so many people around him. Flying through space with only his ship for company was like the whole galaxy came into focus after blurring around him for so long— like waking from a daze, the vividness of life slapping him in the face, away from his own horrifying memories. 

The kind embrace of the empty.

But sometimes—

Sometimes _feeling_ —even pain—was better than the slavering numbness engulfing him. 

Din had learnt how to be less of himself— how to be so little that the horror he witnessed through the galaxy would wash over him and then away. He had learnt to pretend he could smell anything other than blood, cinders and death on his path. He had learnt to seize onto tiny scraps of anything that wasn’t drenched in dread; anything that didn’t suffocate him in guilt and longing simultaneously; anything that let him forget that his life was paid in other people’s blood, and that he would never be worthy of love.

Then came the Child, and Din’s head broke through the waterless surface of his life, took a clean breath of air, and _felt_ for the first time in forever.

In truth, the fear that came with caring for the kid was disabling at times. His presence reminded Din of all he had craved growing up— of belonging when you had nothing and no one, not even a name to call yours. 

Din’s name had been surrendered to the Mandalorians, the same way the Child’s name was lost to a Jedi Temple that was no more. The little creature was bound to the same endless solitude as Din if they didn’t find someone to take him in and teach him the Jedi’s ways.

Except solitude wasn’t all he had to look forward to anymore.

Tatooine, with its everlasting sand, reminded him of everything he didn’t want to be anymore. He could only surrender to a waterless drowning in the barren heat of the zenith suns, suffocated by the helmet which constricted his vision as much as his soul. 

He hadn’t expected to find anything else than men and women who had long since choked on the merciless sand of their planet. People who were all desert inside, battered down by the mortal rays that made everything recede, be it shadows or hopes. 

Sand, everywhere— filling every breath, every heartbeat. Tatooine was hollow in a way that made Din remember that should he falter, should he meet his maker, there would be no one to mourn him. No savior. No deities. This planet had reminded Din that his heart couldn’t be reassembled into something loveable anymore. 

People here said the sky was limitless, that you could be anything if you ever dared to leave— as if space wasn’t a vacuum, as if the frozen, airless solitude of it wouldn’t kill you long before you could leave.

So why _— why_ did this soulless barren rock ended up being the one to bring such wondrous fertile promises? 

Din knew what that dream meant. 

Knew of its endless possibilities. Of its whispers of better to come. Of things that could change. Of cherished moments spent in someone’s else orbit, falling— _falling_. 

Din would fall for Cobb Vanth. Din, who hid who he was behind his helmet because his life had always depended on it, who was a wanderer without anywhere to rest, a weapon anyone with the higher price could point at the wrong person— _He_ would fall for Cobb’s cocky demeanor, for the low drawl of his voice and the fierce desire to protect the place he called home.

Cobb-kriffing-Vanth. 

A man with more power over people than Din could ever dream of, for his bold caring nature would always attract mass. One day, that man would make Din’s whole world revolve around him. Maybe he, by some misplaced twist of fate, would look at _Din_ like he had any worth beside the armor he wore.

See him—

Cobb would see his face soon, if he hadn’t already. 

The thought caught him like a whip snapping the sound barrier and coiling around his throat. Dread surged up from the darkest, softest, safest place in Din’s soul— searing hot, billowing upward through his chest, seething underneath his skin and tearing him apart. 

No one had ever seen his face. _He_ barely ever looked upon his own face. He didn’t really know what he looked like. He bandaged himself up a few times, and he shaved once in a while, but it didn’t require him to really _look_. And Cobb would see it. Maybe it wouldn’t be _his face_ , not in this life, but it didn’t change that in some ways Cobb would be able to _know_ him in ways not even he had been allowed to know himself. 

A tremor shook him and the skin of his face started to prickle. He licked his lips, tasting the salt of his skin and the heat of the desert waiting outside the walls of his ship, where _his_ _soulmate_ was. The only person who, if he took the Vows, would be able to _see_ him. To touch him. 

The yearning that screeched inside him felt like a monstrous beast, ready to devour every of Din’s fears for a chance to be known, touched, _loved_.

He couldn’t breathe. 

He needed to leave. He _had_ to leave. Had to be away from the manipulative voice in his head, promising him the time of survival was almost over, that finally he would be able to rest; that he would be safe. 

As Din stepped outside the Razor Crest, he knew that however flagrant the vision had been to him, nothing had ever changed with a dream. 

Tatooine was still the same unmoveable graveyard of sand, and he was still the same man careening into self-loathing at every fault, drowning in the desperation he had been stifling for as long as he could remember. 

What did he have to offer behind the armor? 

Nothing— Din knew, deep down. He was nothing past the empty shell that oppressed him yet protected him.

Above him, the desert sky was choked with overflowing stars, like a mirror of the feelings strangling him. _Echoes of Souls’_ dreams had the same eerie gut-wrenching beauty as the rolling dunes below, bleeding light and glistening under the reddish hue of the planet’s moon. 

It was still too hot. Too hot to breath, too hot to think, too hot to contemplate the life changing event that dream brought. 

The night would fall further, whisking out the warmth from the air, but Din would be long gone. No place for him here. Not yet. Maybe not ever if he didn’t bring the Child back to his people. 

If only it mattered.

With each parsecs separating them, the grip these dreams had on Din would only grow— they would claw at his chest in the vulnerability of the night until it was _too_ much— too _wonderful._

For Cobb Vanth, a stranger at heart, wasn’t unknown to Din’s soul.


End file.
